For thirty nine years
I was whatever they
Wanted me to be
Loved, hurt
Used and abused by friends
As well as eighty percent of a
Phony generational family
Torn and bashed
Emotional entanglement
Love for self was replaced
With the very thing I hate
When I’m down and out
My family’s the happiest
They applaud me
At my lowest
They celebrate
When I lose what I worked
Hard for
They forget your helping hand
When they elevate
They credit friends
That turned on them
For a false sense of redemption
I write this letter
To the death of me
So I’m buried six feet
In our disaster
And rise an Elite 300 King
Hooaaah battle cry
Call me Jabreel
Larry has died
That love everybody being
Is no longer me
YOU ARE READING
THE SEASONAL TREE (BOOK III of Poetry)
PoetryThird collection of poetry I've written from a source of experience, love, heartbreak, joy, happiness and pain. It chronicles my life in my 30s as an openly bisexual black male, finding his way. ↘️↘️↘️⬇️⬇️⬇️↙️↙️↙️ Photo credit from paintingwithdiam...
